Old Habits Die Hard
by The Norse Goddess
Summary: Lost loves, ignored wisdom, and an incredibly pent up Steward . . . Aragorn/Eowyn, Faramir/Legolas
1. Default Chapter

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Galadriel appeared detached and pensive as she observed the images playing out on the water's silvery surface. The warm sun penetrated the covering of various garden trees, but cheerful sunlight could not change the somber events she witnessed in her mirror. As her deep blue eyes closed, the water went blank before revealing a reflection of pale blue sky.  
  
The Lady of the Wood told the first elf maid she encountered to send word to Lord Celeborn that preparation to receive the Lady Arwen. She would be arriving next morning. Normally, Galadriel would have supervised such events herself, but right now she had other things to ponder.  
  
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Emerald cloak and dark brown hair whirled about in the chilly autumn breeze. Arwen pushed her horse to the limit, urging it on ever faster. Physically, she was sailing through the wind. Her slender elf body was liberated, floating on air. But her mind yet seemed caged up back in Gondor with all else that did not cease to trouble her heart.  
  
Just crawling over the blur of the horizon, the woods of Lórien lingered, beckoning . . .  
  
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A depressing, slightly smutty (still in the works) fanfiction about lost loves, ignored wisdom, and an incredibly pent-up Steward of Gondor.  
  
  
  
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Written By The Norse Goddess  
  
  
  
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A starry night's sky set the tone two days after Arwen's arrival. Galadriel opened the elegantly carved chamber door to reveal a serene room furnished with the ornate furniture so common to high elves. Arwen stood gazing out the large window, pondering the beauty of Lothlorien.  
  
"Your heart is troubled much, young daughter."  
  
Galadriel's low, flowing voice soothed Arwen's soul more than all the beauty of Lórien. She closed her eyes and felt Galadriel searching her soul, reading her thoughts. The elder elf found nothing she was not already keenly aware of. Long had Galadriel viewed Arwen's troubles through her mirror.  
  
"King Elesser's heart is naught but pure deed and kind intent," Arwen started. "But that heart now does not feel such complete love for me, I doubt now it ever did . . ."  
  
Arwen turned to face her grandmother. A tear ran down her pale cheek.  
  
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~Part One~  
  
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Involving a sleepy king, a restless shieldmaiden, and a some sharp, metal objects!!  
  
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Pale blue eyes blinked slowly open to meet the dim morning light. Aragorn resisted the urge to burrow into the bed sheets and escape the bite of chilly autumn air. Rays of sun played on the floor as he hauled his sleep ridden body out of bed and trudged across the room to the water basin. Aragorn splashed the icy water on his face. He had always been a late sleeper by nature, despite his years of experience with the unusual sleeping habits a ranger's life demanded.  
  
This was a day for swordplay, decided the sleepy King as he turned to the window. The light of dawn displayed the beginnings of a clear, fair day for battle training. Aragorn glanced at his famous sword lying on a table, shrouded in cloth. Yes, today he longed for the thrill of war, the excitement of . . . of adventure . . . Ah, he remembered his days as a ranger fondly - almost wistfully. Being a king wasn't so bad as he's imagined it to be. But his heart was beginning to long for previous pastimes. Ah well - he sighed - perhaps the clash of swords would complete his longing.  
  
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Éowyn had watched the ebony night sky fade into a watery blue fall morning. She had been awake for hours taking in the sunrise and listening to Faramir's quiet breathing. With each passing day, the longing in her heart was slowly growing stronger, regardless of her efforts to prevent it. She had been a fool to believe she could leave behind all that her life had been. She regretted that the secure confines of marriage had failed to change her nature from slayer to healer.  
  
Her eagerness to heal and be the patient mother and wife that men so valued had soon faded into frustration at her lack of domestic talent. She had not the patience to heal or sew, she lacked the initiative to organize a household, she didn't even have the voice for singing. And yet, her lack of activity seemed to bother no one. Éowyn could be restless, but she would not be ignore. The shining glory of war, the triumph of battle - these were the things that made Éowyn truly fulfilled, truly happy.  
  
Alas, she could not remember the last time she had felt that true happiness. She had thought that when her shadow had passed on the tower, before her marriage she had felt such bliss - but it had been a lie. The last time she had felt bliss had been in Rohan when - no, it had been in battle with - with Aragorn . . .  
  
Ah, she had to stop thinking about him!! It simply was not, had never been remotely possible for her affections toward Aragorn to be anything more than a sweet daydream . . . a daydream that had once consumed her life. Éowyn would not let that happen again . . . it had passed.  
  
She gracefully slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Faramir, and reached for her various articles of clothing. Fortunately, the dress she chose laced up the front, and there was no need to call in one of her handmaidens to help. She needed to see the sky, to smell the air. She needed to remember what happiness felt like. She needed to forget Aragorn. But forgetting was not to be her fate as, at last, she eased the chamber door shut and started down the hall.  
  
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The East courtyard was deathly silent and peacefully void of life. For generations, this particular area had been claimed by the men for swordplay and other such arts of war. Unlike the other courtyards, filled with flowers and charming stone walkways, this one was little more than dirt decorated with various footprints and sickly patches of grass. The battle gear hung on the West wall, dimly gleaming with the fading light of the full moon.  
  
Aragorn didn't hear the light footsteps until it was too late. He was caught off his guard and felt exposed as his eyes caught the fleeting vision: Pure, white flowing garments framed in heavenly golden light seemed to float through the dark, indoors hallway, emerging outside. The dull light of morning stripped away the vision to reveal the pure loveliness of Éowyn. Aragorn was too stunned to move or speak. Éowyn stared for a moment before stepping behind him to face the rising sun.  
  
The King was bothered by his moment of dumb surprise. The vision had faded, he couldn't afford to dwell on it, he must remain in the present. He turned to face Éowyn and found that she had taken a sword from it's shelf and was inspecting the blade. She took a few practice swings.  
  
"Typical Éowyn," thought Aragorn.  
  
Éowyn let the sword rest in her hand and took a few steps towards him. Aragorn felt an instinctive nervousness knowing he would have to fight the one person he had always feared would best him.  
  
"You didn't come here just to watch the sun rise, did you?" Her words cut through the silence.  
  
Aragorn was caught off his guard again, the sharp words seemed so unnatural coming from such a lovely creature. But then he glanced at her face and saw that although she was beautiful as ever, the expression her face held was frightening, even vicious. He remembered that expression exclusively from battle. It never ceased to pierce his heart with fear. That flame of fierce passion which would only fade when Éowyn had had her fight, or died trying.  
  
Aragorn methodically walked towards a shelf and selected the sword that lay on it. It was one of the finer pieces kept for training those too young to have their own sword. He gazed at Éowyn and noted that the fearsome expression had not dwindled. With sword in hand, he felt much of his confidence return. Éowyn had not picked up a sword in months, perhaps he would have easy victory.  
  
His lips tried to issue a general statement to acknowledge the beginning of the fight, but never got the chance. Éowyn whirled around, slicing the air, yet strangely, not the silence with her sword. Aragorn blocked the move at the last second, caught off guard only momentarily. Éowyn let out a loud, guttural gasp at the collision of weapons. Her furious eyes grew ever brighter. Their swordplay raged on for minutes upon minutes, yet it seemed miles of time slipped away.  
  
Aragorn was deeply comfortable, feeling out each move instinctively. He felt certain he would win for at the rate things were currently going, he could keep this up until the moon came out. But just Aragorn would win, the tide turned. Éowyn inhaled quickly, deeply and closed her eyes for a split second. It was as if she were invoking some deep magic, conjuring up some secret power within her. And when her eyes opened, she fought with the deadly wrath of a woman gone mad.  
  
Aragorn held out at first. "Surely she cannot keep this up, she will tire soon."  
  
But Éowyn did not tire and Aragorn's confidence slowly turned to fear. He had not felt such fear even when fighting orcs! But he would never end such a fight. The indignity of cowardice made him cringe. He would fight until dead with exhaustion! Fortunately, he didn't need to. The icy steel of Éowyn's sword bit his neck ever so slightly. His sword thudded on the damp ground as his fingers fell, limp, at his side.  
  
Two sorrowful hearts raced in the silence. Éowyn wore an expression of blank astonishment mingled with horror. The crystal tear that fell from her eye was the moment of truth.  
  
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It had always seemed to Arwen that Galadriel's garden was perhaps the most unsettling place she had ever been. Beautiful, tranquil - yes. But one was more at ease being chased by nazgul then being asked to look into her mirror.  
  
Galadriel stood opposite Arwen, the pair silently watching the image of Aragorn in the mirror. It seemed that the face staring back at them held within it youth, maturity, and old age. The regal King of Gondor, past present and future.  
  
"You knew this would happen," the Lady said. "You knew it in your heart, even though you would not admit to it."  
  
"I had hoped I could change what my heart foresaw." And Arwen's despair rang out in her voice.  
  
Galadriel said nothing audible. But in Arwen's thoughts her voice echoed: " . . . things fade . . . your hope betrayed you . . . his love for you is dead . . ." And never had she felt such utter desperation, such icy chill in her heart.  
  
Galadriel drew closer to Arwen, stepping around the stone pillar supporting the mirror. She lifted her slender hand and pressed it to Arwen's lower stomach, closing her eyes.  
  
" . . . such sadness . . ."  
  
"It is as I have seen," she said, opening her eyes and drawing back her hand. "You carry within you Elesser's only son. The line of Gondor will continue. "You however," she looked at Arwen, "will not."  
  
Arwen's face paled and her eyes grew wide with shock. Her eyes strayed down to her stomach and she clasped her hands protectively over it. Galadriel observed her chest rise and fall with the ragged, unsteady breathing of a woman now condemned to die.  
  
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	2. Part 2

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~Part Two~  
  
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Involving that age old conflict: duty vs. honor (which, I might add, is greatly improved with naughty implications)  
  
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Aragorn gently stroked the sleeping Éowyn's loose golden hair. His exhaustion made it an effort even to move his hand off of the white feather pillow. He finally collapsed onto his back, utterly spent, and felt his eyes involuntarily wander to admire the graceful curves of Éowyn's bare shoulders.  
  
"So lovely . . ." Aragorn found himself thinking.  
  
She was nothing like Arwen. Aragorn suddenly remembered the cold emptiness their first night together had left within him. How he had watched her sleeping figure, so very reminiscent of the forgotten stone statues tucked into the dark, hidden corners of Lothlorien. That night . . . not so very long ago when he had realized his terrible mistake. The memory still pained him - guilt, like a thousand shards of glass pierced his heart. He had never loved her. Never. And she could never know. No one could ever know. They had both made their choice, right or painfully wrong, there was nothing that could be done now.  
  
He gazed idly at Éowyn's peaceful face and suddenly realized that his lips bore the smile of a man happily captivated and completed by a woman. She was, so . . . so perfect. She made him feel so compete, so . . . happy . . .  
  
Yes, complete, he finally felt complete. After secretly desiring Éowyn for so long she was with him at last. And the mighty ruler of Gondor suddenly felt the uncomplicated human need to simply be with her. It was the only thing he wanted. He reflected that it was the only thing he'd ever wanted. And ironically, he sighed, it was the one and only thing he absolutely could not have. Arwen had pledged her immortal life to him and he must remain loyal to her no matter what the cost. But . . .  
  
He looked over at Éowyn for the hundreth time.  
  
"Now I desire nothing . . . no one but her."  
  
Aragorn turned convulsively away. He put his hand to his brow in a gesture of confusion, despair, and bitter regret. Why had he been so foolish? Why ? What had he been thinking then, when he'd married her? And what had he been thinking just now, taking Faramir's wife to his bed? But no! He did not regret that. He smiled at the memory. What was done was done, be it foolish or wise, accident or destiny.  
  
Quite suddenly, the dangerous nature of the position they were in struck Aragorn. Here they were, laying completely undressed in a guest bedroom at nearly lunchtime. This was very definitely not good. People would be looking for them and Faramir could well be scouring the castle by now!  
  
"Must get up." Aragorn decided with brevity.  
  
He hauled himself out of a warm bed for the second time that morning and began picking clothes up off the stone floor. His clothes were scattered on top of Éowyn's dress just as he had left them (although he had been too rushed to notice where exactly his clothes went). Dressing himself quickly, he draped Éowyn's dress over the bed and knelt to kiss her forehead. Breathing in her scent, he felt himself smile again. Arwen always smelt of freshly fallen snow and sweet flowers. But Éowyn smelled, like, like a human woman. She was warm springtime air, fresh cream and (very, very faintly), wild strawberries. He put his lips to her ear and whispered her name a few times in an effort to wake her. She finally woke, after a bit of shaking.  
  
It took a few seconds of puzzlement before Éowyn smiled at remembering where she was and what/who she was doing there. She lifted her hand and lovingly let her fingers trail down Aragorn's unshaven cheek. No, Éowyn had no regrets either. Aragorn drew himself back up to his full height, before sitting down on the bed beside Éowyn.  
  
"You should dress yourself," he said plainly. "Faramir will be looking for you."  
  
Éowyn's face seemed to fall at the mention of her husband. She looked down at the floor.  
  
"Why am I married to him Aragorn?" She almost pleaded. "Why?"  
  
"Because I was foolish enough not to marry you." He paused. "I am sorry Éowyn."  
  
Éowyn brightened at this. Aragorn reached out and took her pale face in his hands.  
  
"I say to you now that you are lovely Éowyn and I do love you."  
  
The words alone could have been lies, but the eyes of the speaker held a look of intense honesty. Éowyn felt a supremely pure love for her king, the kind of love that crosses seas and oceans, the kind of love that overcomes all . . .  
  
"You'd better get get dressed." Aragorn repeated. With that he was up and out the door.  
  
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Faramir opened the chamber door a crack, looked to both sides making sure there was no one else there, and hesitantly slipped into the dimly lit room. A few seconds after he shut the door, a graceful, blonde figure materialized out of the shadows.  
  
"You're late." Legolas' tone was cocky and slightly arrogant, but his face bore a smile of elvish delight that clearly said. "I'm glad to see you."  
  
"I was looking for Éowyn." Faramir explained. He suddenly cast his eyes downward on the floor. "When I woke up she wasn't there."  
  
"Where was she?"  
  
"In the armory cleaning battle gear."  
  
"Does she know about us?" the elf breathed.  
  
"No," Faramir said looking up, his voice was tinged with guilt. Legolas' question had reminde him why exactly they were here.  
  
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The sun had not yet risen on Lothlorien as Arwen prepared her horse for the tedious journey ahead. She led her steed slowly onto the beginnings of the path she would be taking. Arwen had gotten into the odd habit of setting out on long journeys in the very early morning before anyone was awake. But Lórien never fully sleeps.  
  
Galadriel's luminous figure floated through the darkness. She glided down the stairs, stopping directly after the last step. Now eye level, the two elves simply watched each other, silent.  
  
" . . . I wish . . . I did not have to leave . . . I wish it did not have to be . . ." This time it was Arwen's voice in Galadriel's mind.  
  
"You made your choice long ago . . . but perhaps some good will come of it . . ."  
  
Arwen nodded ever so slightly. She felt the strong, uncanny desire to run into Galadriel's arms, to embrace her. But experience told her the Lady of Lórien was not the type to eagerly accept such embraces. She placed her right hand on her breast and bowed her head in the fomal elvish gesture of respect. Galadriel raised her hand in that uniquely personal farewell she always used.  
  
The Lady watched Arwen set out, walking down the forest path guiding the horse behind her. She watched until the younger elf disappeared behind the trees.  
  
"Nobody follows my councel anymore . . ." The thoughts tore at Galadriel's heart.  
  
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Éowyn shuddered as she stepped out of the armory into the seemingly fresh air the hallway offered. She loved weapons, but she hated cleaning them and cleaning them in the stench of the armory was even worse. The blood and grime of battle seemed a constant fixture on some of the weapons and the smell they left was intolerable. She walked down the hallway a bit, but stopped as the memory of that morning washed over her. Smiling with remembrance, she made her way to a nearby window and stared out into the fall afternoon.  
  
The cool breeze caressed her face as Éowyn reflected on the love she felt steadily growing inside her heart.  
  
"I love him . . ." her lips slowly crept into a fufilled smile.  
  
And it was not just lust that she felt now for her king. It was the simple need, the longing to be near him always. She let out a content sigh. Faramir didn't matter. He paid such little attention to her anyway. His mind always seemed to be elsewhere these days . . .  
  
Ah, it was such a pleasant sensation to remember his hands touching her bare skin. Her body felt chills of desire at the mere memory. Every inch of her being seemed to long for him. Every inch separately straining to find him, though he was not there. And the most magical thing about it all was the simple fact that Éowyn felt happy. She felt content, satisfied, competed! It was a completeness that she had not felt ever in her life, not even as a child.  
  
None of the impossible details of this bothered her. Arwen, Faramir and all of Middle Earth didn't matter, honor was of no importance, and even the wrinkles in her dress were of no consequence. However, there was one possible problem that Éowyn suddenly remembered. Her hands clutched her lower stomach. She had already borne Faramir a healthy boy, there was no doubt that she could very well become pregrant with the heir Aragorn so wanted. The thought of this was both horrifying and lovely. His child - a little piece of him growing slowly inside her womb would be so wonderful . . .  
  
"No! No, what am I thinking?" Éowyn now thought of the distressing implications of all this.  
  
"And I highly doubt I'm with child anyway, after just one time . . ." She stared out the window again.  
  
A firmly masculine hand touched Éowyn's shoulder. After years of life in the wild, Aragorn had developed the uncanny ability to move without any sound. She turned to look into not the smiling, content face she had last seen, but a face full of sadness and distress. "Éowyn . . ." Aragorn looked at the floor.  
  
The smile on Éowyn's face vanished as a summer breeze yielding to winter's chill. She gently touched his face with the tips of her fingers in an act of comfort. Aragorn looked up at Éowyn before taking her fingers in his hand slowly lowering them and letting them fall loose. The gesture struck at Éowyn's heart. She knew the words even as Aragorn spoke them.  
  
"Arwen has sacrificed everything - disobeyed everyone to be with me."  
  
" . . . no . . . no . . ." she whispered.  
  
"Éowyn!" He clasped her upper arms in his hands. "I love you! More than I have loved any woman, mortal or immortal! But we cannot do this! You have a husband and I a wife."  
  
She cast her eyes downward on the floor. "Aragorn," she looked up at him. "Every second you are not by my side, every moment you are with Arwen my heart is slowly being torn apart. Why will you not offer me that love you give her?"  
  
"You have all my love Éowyn." He tried to embrace her.  
  
"No! No I do not!" She recoiled suddenly, stepping back.  
  
"Éowyn! I do not love her!"  
  
"So you would live a life of misery, not loving her, not letting yourself love me? You would not be the only one to be miserable . . ." She looked away.  
  
"There is also honor to uphold! Mine and yours!"  
  
"The words you spoke this morning seemed a bit lacking in honor, my lord!" She spat the words.  
  
"Éowyn . . ."  
  
She turned away and started down the corridor. "Let me alone!"  
  
Her sleeve was wet with salt tears before she reached the courtyard. Éowyn's hands flew to her neck to clutch the necklace she wore for comfort only to discover its absence . . .  
  
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	3. Intermission

***~~~~***Intermission***~~~~***  
  
This is the part of the story where we take a break to go get drunk and chat pleasantly with other readers. So . . . go on . . . get some drinks already!! Preferably alcoholic ones . . . part 3 might totally suck!!! But even if it does - even badly written Faramir/Legolas make out sessions are good . . . right??  
  
This is also the part of the story where I, the author give you loads of useless information nobody really cares about, for example:  
  
Disclaimer: Everything (excluding the plot of this particular fic) belongs to Tolkein. Pweeeeeez!! Don't sue!!! Is bad karma!!  
  
Tribute: I, The Norse Goddess, hereby dedicate this fic to the following people: Kerry and Manda (for being my slash buddies), KP and Jenna (for introducing me to the dark side of fanfiction), all members of the ISMS Royal Court (for a whole year of VERY entertaining lunchtimes), and to The Goddess of Hottie Island - a.k.a. Éowyn (for obsessing over the LotR guys with me, and for crushing on Faramir only to start dating Aragorn, thereby giving me the plot for this fic!!).  
  
Are you drunk yet?? You'd better be 'cause here are some random facts!!!  
  
Food Consumed While Writing this Fic: 3 Hershy's Bars, 2 Bags of Hershey's Kisses, 1 and 1 half bars of Milka, about 7 pots of Lemon Tea, 2 glasses of ice water.  
  
Music to Listen to Whilst Reading Fic: TT soundtrack; tracks 8, 14, and 19, the Tristan und Isolde Overture, Delerium's "Till the End of Time, pretty much anything angsty.  
  
Notes of Actual Importance: I just sort of made up the architecture of the castle, so feel free to throw things at me if it's totally off. Also, in part 1, there are NO dirty symbols or references!!!! The little fight between Éowyn and Aragorn does not imply or stand for anything other than a sword fight (although it did succeed in getting both participants very turned on!) After part 1, feel free to insinuate all the dirty details and euphemisms you want!!! Hehe, I give you license!!! Run free!!!  
  
Questions????: Answer me this, would an Eomer/Lothíriel fic with loads of angst and maybe some kink be worth reading??? And is Faramir/Legolas not a hot pairing????  
  
*~~~*5 Minutes to Curtain*~~~*  
  
Better finish your drinks!!! Get ready for some heavy slashing!!! 


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